A New Way, A New Truth

For In Character events on the small island where the plantmen known as Brocklings originate

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A New Way, A New Truth

Postby Huw » Thu Feb 16, 2012 5:03 pm

Sometime in the night, it changed. He...snapped. No, that wasn't the right word. He saw the light for what it was, the falseness of the promises, the blinding lies that obscured what was. He turned from those falsehoods towards the Truth.

Ancalimon awoke, from his first peaceful night's sleep in...how long? He couldn't remember. But the torments were gone. The nightmares he visited on himself, in the name of the Enemy - he had but to stop torturing himself.

Was the sky darker? Were the colours of the Island dimmer? No. Only one blinded by Hope would think so.

There was something to do. The final step in his Embrace. The alchemist arose, for the first time in far too long, with purpose in his steps. Just one last act...


The temple to Despair was silent. No one worshipped, for the day was not Depsair's natural time - but it was no matter. Ancalimon walked to the altar, to the sacred phylactery that lay upon it. He placed his hand upon it.

"Lord Despair. I come to you of my own free will, to show my new faith. I reject fully the lies of the Enemy. No more shall the false light of, of - Hope - blind me."

He feels the blow of his new God, staggers. But his hand now was anchored, fused to the phylactery. There was no turning back.

"I reject her lies. I reject her light. I view the world as it is, free of these lies, these dreams that blind us. Hope shall no longer blind me."

Another blow. Dimly he was aware that he was bleeding, that he should be unconscious, yet the shrine itself kept him upright.

"Guide my steps, Father Despair, take me from the Light to the Truth. Allow me to see the work of Hope and undo it, banish her light. I give myself to Despair."

Something shakes his entire body. The wounds on his head stop bleeding. His head is thrust up, eyes rolled back and a rictus grin on his face as power surges around him, between him and the shrine. Without his control, a sigh escapes his lips.

In an instant, it is over. He slumps forward, reunited with his soul, and collapses in a foetal position in fron of the Shrine.

Ancálimon y Festaer y Helyanwe, Alchemist
Azael Bannon, Telefret High Mage
Fox, Shaman of the Tsimshian

It's only a game.

The Chosen

Re: A New Way, A New Truth

Postby The Chosen » Thu Feb 16, 2012 7:19 pm

Acolytes of Despair carefully, reverently carry away the Elfs inert form, taking him to a small cell within the temple. They lay him in a bed there, treating his wounds and letting him rest peacefully.

When he wakes, the Sentinel of the Island, the Priest of Despair, is in front of him. He smiles.

Well done. You have taken the first step - the hardest step. You are free from the lies of the enemy, brought here by your own free will. The Island is one step closer to His glorious design, and you are released to do His work as you see fit.

He leans forward and embraces Ancalimon.


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Re: A New Way, A New Truth

Postby Huw » Wed Feb 22, 2012 6:30 pm

A few days later Ancalimon leaves the temple, a new purpose on his mind. He'd had a lot of time to think, but now it was time to put some of those thoughs into action.
Ancálimon y Festaer y Helyanwe, Alchemist
Azael Bannon, Telefret High Mage
Fox, Shaman of the Tsimshian

It's only a game.

The Chosen

Re: A New Way, A New Truth

Postby The Chosen » Sat Apr 28, 2012 10:46 pm

You have failed.

Barely two months after leaving the Island, the high elf is dragged back into the shrine between two acolytes, his hat falling off as he is made to kneel in front of The Chosen. The priest paces in front of him, back, forth as the acolytes leave.

Father Despair granted you your soul back. You showed promise. Thrice you swore to oppose the Enemy and her actions, of your own accord. And yet her you are, you have strayed already.

Back and forth he paces, back and forth.

Ancalimon swallows, then looks up. "Strayed? I-"

Silence. Father Despair - OUR Father, protects you from others knowing your intents and true face. But you can hide nothing from him! Did you think you could do something without him seeing?

"But I came back, to help safeguard the Island - gave you the means to detect the Soulless poison-

The pacing stops. And why was that? Did you want to safeguard this place, allow His work to continue, his glorious construction? Does He own your heart, your entire loyalty?


He cuts the elf off with a slap, a snarl on his face. Not here! Our father abhors lies, especially transparent ones. I thought you did too. Very well. If you will not tell me, I will show you your weakness.

He walks to the shrine and picks up a bowl with an incense cone. [color=#800080] Here is what I see. Despair sends me dreams, of how his work proceeds...

He lights the cone, and the smoke begins to form a shadowy, transparent scene. ...and this is what I saw. He steps back and lets the elf watch, as voices almost beyond hearing sound.[/color]

In the smoke, two figures. One human, one elven.

...a life elf...this is like - returning to a darkened room. Willow...I don't want this for my daughter, Quayle. If, when you go back to the Island...please save her. Don't let her turn to Despair.

The smoke dissapates. There is quiet for a long moment, the only sound the muttering of The Chosen. He steps forward, and speaks one clearly audible word as he touches the high elf's shoulder.


He takes a knife and puts it on the floor in front of Ancalimon, then hits him in the back of the head so he falls forward, head beside the bared blade.

You did not come here to serve Despair. You came here for selfish reasons. Whatever you thought might happen. So here is what will happen. You allow the Enemy into your heart, via the child. This makes you a flawed vessel of the Father. So I present you with a choice. You will retun your soul to Him, and you cut your child out of your life. Make yourself worthy of his gift. Or...you will cut your arm off.

...It's your choice.

Ancalimon picks up his head. Then, slowly, as his muscles war against each other and his eyes widen, he picks up the knife. His head is allowed to turn, to watch as his hand makes its agonising, halting progress towards his other arm. He tries to shut his eyes, to turn away. He cannot. The freshly sharpened knife slices easily through the cloth of his jacket, his tunic, the cuts falling open just enough to allow the knife within. The initial cut doesn't hurt, almost gliding through the first layers of skin.

Like a silver fish, almost faster than the eye can see, something flits around Ancalimon and out again, ignored by the Chosen.

No. Do not give up yet. There is one last gambit. A final chance. Do not give up yet.

I am always present. Even in the dark. Do not give up yet.

With that, it is gone. Laboriously, with one hand, Ancalimon gets up, the one bearing the knife pressed to his flesh just above the elbow. He crosses over to the shrine of Despair. No symbolic words this time, no oaths; just his free hand clamped to the shrine as his life drains away, being drawn out and a beckoning void to replace it.

With a final shudder, he falls to the floor unconscious.

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